


raspberry kisses

by shecouldbeamazing



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crap Telly, Fluff, Hannibal - Freeform, Kissing, M/M, raspberries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 10:41:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1466371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shecouldbeamazing/pseuds/shecouldbeamazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days, he liked to soak in the thrill of solving a case. All that adrenaline. It was a natural high. But other days, he needed to quell his racing brain.</p>
<p>In other words, it was to be a night of crap telly and entangled limbs on the sofa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	raspberry kisses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bencumberwub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bencumberwub/gifts).



> i wrote this because i was eating raspberries the other day and i stuck them on my fingers. my friend saw me wiggling my hands with them on there and she gave me this idea. so this happened. (also, i wrote this at midnight after watching the new episode of hannibal. don't judge me...). (...oh and don't read this if you haven't caught up on hannibal yet. JUST warning you. i don't think it's spoilery, but that's just my opinion).

It was just another night in 221b, both Sherlock and John treating themselves to a night in. It was a long day of running and solving cases and there was nothing John thought he needed more than some time to remember what standing still felt like. Sherlock shared the same notion, John knew. Some days, he liked to soak in the thrill of solving a case. All that adrenaline. It was a natural high. But other days, he needed to quell his racing brain.

In other words, it was to be a night of crap telly and entangled limbs on the sofa. 

Sherlock’s head rested in John’s lap, his body curled in on itself, his eyes half open focused on the television screen. John reached into a small box of berries and plopped a couple into his mouth, his other hand nestling themselves through Sherlock’s mussed curls. It was moments like these that made John think he was in love with a cat than a person. All that was missing was the purring. 

“Sherlock, I don’t think this show counts as crap telly,” John mentioned, mouth full of berry. 

“Of course it does,” he mumbled drowsily. “The people on this show are idiots.”

“Not really. They’re just ignorant.”   
“Idiotic,” he corrected. 

“It’s called dramatic irony,” John bantered back. “The audience knows he’s a cannibal, not the characters.”

“No. Will Graham knows. Chilton knows. Miriam Lass knows- and speaking of her- her whole repressed memory trope this show is trying to propagate is ridiculous.”

“Is that your reasoning? Psychology?” 

“Yes. You can’t bring back someone’s memory by waving a watch in front of them. This show is a classic crap telly show. The characters are easily disillusioned and the fact that Will can figure out how the chesapeake ripper kills its victims just by observing the crime scene is completely unrealistic.”

John quirked an eyebrow. “Sherlock, you do that all the time.”

“Yes, but they claim it’s because he has an empathy disorder- he’s overly empathetic. Empathy allows you to magically know how a psychopathic cannibal disembowels his victims?”

“If I criticized you, you’d kick me out of the bedroom.”

“No I wouldn’t.”

“The way you just happen to know things seems pretty magical to me.”

“That’s not me,” he grumbled. “Not even close. Empathy is an emotion you should avoid in this line of work. I’m the opposite of empathy. I’m logic and reason.”

John popped another berry in. “I like it. It’s a good show.”

Sherlock turned his head and stared at John, disbelief and exasperation written all over his face.  
John shrugged. 

As the show went on and the gruesome slaughters of innocent people commenced and then cooked into fine cuisine, John found himself messing with the berries he’d been eating, trying not to focus on the blood and guts alighting the screen. Sherlock watched unfazed until a commercial came on. When it did, he turned his head to look at John again and nuzzled his head slightly into John’s stomach. 

“Queasy yet?”

“Not yet.” 

“…What are you doing?” he asked then with a smirk as he looked at John’s fingers. In trying to distract himself, John had placed raspberries onto the tips of all of his fingers, making Sherlock think of little edible finger puppets. John wiggled his fingers, an act that made him increasingly more adorable. 

“It just happened,” he said with a smile and a laugh. 

Sherlock gave a small laugh himself. John moved to start eating the raspberries off when Sherlock grabbed his arm. Slowly, gently, he directed his berry adorned hand to his mouth. 

One finger, deftly, expertly, he took in his mouth, all the while he didn’t tear his eyes away from John’s. His teeth grazed John’s skin as he pulled the berry into his mouth, chewed it, and swallowed it. 

Sherlock hummed. 

“Delicious.” Red juice dribbled down his chin. 

John snorted. “Something tells me this shouldn’t be happening as we’re watching a show about a man who serves tongues for dinner.”

He shrugged and put the tips of John’s other fingers into his mouth, each one taking longer than the last. Suddenly, it was becoming increasingly hard to sit still with Sherlock in his lap. 

“You’ve eaten all my raspberries,” John teased, a little breathless. “Those are my favorite. I was saving them for last.”

“I can help with that.” He yanked John down by the collar and crashed his lips against his own. 

For a while there, Sherlock was right. He tasted sweet and refreshing, just like a raspberry.


End file.
